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Bao’s laugh sounded hollow in the silence. Surely the fisherman thought he had lost his mind and reason. The river witch was only a tale told to frighten small children into submission, and the servants’ silly rumors—of maids who came back with powerful love potions or aginggardeners who returned decades younger and in the peak of health—were only that: stories meant to entice and entertain. He must have sounded so childish to Chú Minh.
And yet, as night began to fall, Bao could easily imagine this part of the river to be home to a witch. Here the trees bent their ropy necks over the water, blocking out the sun, and the limestone mountains hovered like malicious giants casting shadows over the land. The riverbanks seemed to close in on either side, and the branches in the water were sentinels, lifting their thick, mold-strewn leaves in warning.
Bao shivered despite the pungent heat, forgetting his hunger. He considered turning the boat back and trying an alternate route; he was certain that while dreaming his disturbing dreams, he had missed other possible paths. But his resolve hardened before he could dig his oar into the riverbank and flip himself around. Going back in the direction from which he had come felt like losing a battle. It felt like returning to Lan, like admitting his worthlessness. This was meant to be a new beginning, and what was a new beginning without adventure?
“I won’t go back,” he said aloud, and pushed on with renewed zeal.
Master Huynh had trained him well. Bao was certain he would be able to find work as a healer in a village somewhere. He would live comfortably, and live alone. And day by day, time would heal his painful memories until he had forgotten the people he had left behind.
He didn’t know why a thought that should have been freeing only made his heart heavier.
He came across a plant groaning with dragon fruit and gratefully cut down several with his knife. He sliced into the deep pink fruit and ate the sweet, mild flesh, only just realizing how thirsty he was. He saved a quantity for later and continued down the winding river, and long after the sun had gone down, he still had yet to see a single person ordwelling or hear any sound but the splashing of his oars in the stagnant water.
To add to his uneasiness, there was a stale, sickly sweet smell to the air, as though the river was filled with dead fish. Bao wished for one fleeting moment that hehadturned back; if he had, he could be eating a hot supper right now with Chú Minh and his family.
And then, suddenly, the vegetation cleared, and in the darkness, Bao saw shapes rising from the riverbanks on either side. They were abandoned huts, fashioned crudely from bamboo and enormous palm leaves. He saw no one, no washing hung out to dry, and no smoke indicating cooking, until a movement in the bushes made him cry out and hold his oar out like a weapon. But it was just a family of mangy rodents, scavenging for food in a pile of rotted timber.
“Get a hold of yourself,” Bao told himself out loud, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The heavy, watchful silence sharpened around him, as though listening. The hairs on his arms rose as he passed a shabby hut draped in shadows.
Bao had long learned to trust his intuition, as an orphan surviving alone before the Huynhs, and right now it was telling him that he needed to row as fast as he could away from this place. But as he readjusted his oars, his boat hit a large rock with a sickening crunch. He had been so focused on the huts that he hadn’t seen the obstacle in the dark. As he muttered a curse and leaned over to check the damage, the back of his neck began to prickle. There was a presence, very near, and within seconds the tip of a spear pointed at his chest.
Someone asked, “What do you want? Speak or I stab you through the heart.”
7
A short woman stared down the handle of the brutal-looking weapon. If not for her white hair, Bao might have mistaken her for a child, with her thin arms and legs sticking out from a worn, shapeless tunic. But her face wasn’t that of an old woman, either—she might have been forty.
“I told you to speak, boy!” Her gravelly voice sounded as though it wasn’t often used.
Bao held both palms out. “I mean you no harm. I’m only passing by.”
“No one who comes here is ever justpassingby.”
“I am a lonely traveler. There was only one path, and my boat followed it...”
The woman jabbed the spear forward, and he felt the tip graze his tunic. “You are either a liar or very simple,” she said in a low, hateful voice. “This river is massive. It is a maze made of waterways, with more twists and turns than you can imagine. You expect me to believe that the current took you here by chance? To the infamous river witch?”
“The river witch?” Bao reared back in shock. He didn’t know what he had expected the witch to look like, but it was not this. Perhaps she was lying. His eyes took in every inch of her, from the snowy tangles of her hair to the dirt and scratches on her bare feet. And despite how small and harmless she appeared, his intuition warned him to be cautious. There was a quality to the way she stood and spoke that brought to mind a hungry, haggard tiger, ready to pounce.
“It is impossible to find me unless you are looking for me,” she said.
“I wasn’t looking for—”
“Liar!” she roared, stunning him into shamed silence. But then she leaned close to study him, the ripe, overpowering smell of her unwashed body filling his nostrils. “Now, I want you to tell me the truth. Where did you come from?”
“The river market about a day’s journey north. I ran away from home.”
“No,” she said softly, and Bao winced as the tip of the spear pressed harder into his skin. One flick of her wrist, and she would draw blood. “That is not your true home. You’re of the southern Grasslands, like me. I can tell by the look of you, and by your accent.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “It’s true. I was born there. But I’m an orphan, and I remember nothing about my birth family.”
“Is that so?” The woman lowered the spear, her narrowed eyes taking him in. “People never seek the river witch without a reason. An elderly man hungering for borrowed time. A young man craving riches. A woman in need of a spell that will guarantee her a baby son.”
“I don’t want any of those things. I just want to go south so I can start a new life,” Bao said. “Now, I must be on my way. I apologize for disturbing you.”
She ignored him. “You’re not in possession of a broken heart, are you?”
“Of course not,” he said, a little too loudly.
